


Touch Me

by merrabeth



Series: Slam Jams [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: A.U.gust, Friends With Benefits AU, It's 3AM, M/M, PWP, Sexual Content, i lied there's a tiny bit of plot, is that even a thing?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-14 02:41:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2175057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrabeth/pseuds/merrabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian was surprised when Mickey didn’t flinch as he sat up, the closeness growing in intensity. “What is this?” he asked with a sigh.</p><p>Mickey rolled his eyes at hearing the question he’s heard so many times before. “I keep tellin’ you, Firecrotch. We’re fuck buddies or, as you’d call it, friends with benefits.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch Me

**Author's Note:**

> Based off a lovely (old) song that I've been thinking about recently: Touch Me from the show SMASH. I had to have a little bit of backstory...maybe this isn't pwp at all. Gosh. Enjoy

_[Tis be the song that inspired this crap](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=egUtlQCTrXg#t=49) _

* * *

 

Someone was lying next to him; Mickey could feel him.

It took him a moment to come to, to remember he wasn’t at home in his twin sized bed shoved up against a cool wall in his small bedroom. He was in queen sized bed with light filtering in from a window behind him on a wall. It was night, by the downtown area was illuminated with busy lives of others. And there was the freckled arm wrapped around his waist, limp. He entertained the thought that, if he moved, the arm would tighten around him, possessive. But as Mickey started to move, he knew it wouldn’t happen. This was a quick fuck with someone outside his realm. Well, _fucks_ , as in plural.

When he finally sat on the side of the bed with his legs dangling from the side, he looked back to Ian- his fuck buddy. That’s all they were. Even though he saw it sometimes, afterwards when they were catching their breath post orgasm or before when the red head would drag out the foreplay to where Mickey was ready to beat his ass, Mickey would find a way to remind him that no feelings should or could be involved. He hopped down, standing still to let blood flow back to his legs before he padded around to the door, picking up a pair of boxers on the way.

Mickey had only been over to Ian’s condo to know where the bathroom and the kitchen were located; that’s all they usually had time for (per request of Mickey, though Ian had tried on numerous occasions to make Mickey stay after a few rounds). So he made his way to the kitchen, fully aware at its stocked status and the beers Ian kept at the back. The light from the fridge nearly blinded him, given the rest of the room’s darkness. He doesn’t remember when they fell asleep; he just remembers the view of the lake as the sun set in the other direction. Now, he watched the world from high above as cars flashes by with the head and tail lights. Mickey always refused to stay in this type of surrounding, afraid he’d get caught up in the fairy tale of it all. Ian was a fucking fairy tale, and meeting Mickey was a fluke. Ian walking into the diner Mickey worked at on the _only_ day when Mickey would have to wait on people was completely lucky. Ian underhandedly expressed that he didn’t believe in coincidences, but he wasn’t one to push on matters that would upset Mickey.

He closed the fridge, allowing his eyes to readjust to the dark room. The light from outside shun dully as Mickey glanced over the room. He spotted a door slightly open, nothing peculiar, but curiosity killed him as he sat down his beer on the counter and went to check what he thought would be just another average room. The thing was that Mickey didn’t like to ask Ian questions; he’d rather investigate for himself, check out the guy he was fucking and come up with his own conclusions- it worked well for him so far. The only thing that stuck out about Ian (besides his fucking green eyes that Mickey couldn’t stop thinking about) was his camera. He guessed Ian to be a douche- hipster that liked taking pictures or that he was a professional. Turned out the second option was true. And from Ian’s luxury condominium with a lake view, Ian also had a bit of money. But since finding out where the money came from involved acting like he cared, he didn’t bother to ask.

He opened the door, confused he didn’t see a regular bed or storage room. He flicked on a light that actually shown red before he scrambled to find another switch that was ordinary light. He found equipments and lenses on walls, and a line where photos hung against another; this was Ian’s darkroom. Mickey’s heart lifted, feeling as though he’d hit the jackpot for some reason or another. He glanced over the ordinary pictures of a teenage girl and boy about to be the same age (they had similarities he’d seen in Ian, so they must be family) until he stopped short in front of a picture of himself.

It was Mickey, his face turned toward the camera as he looked back at someone or something. He had a smile on his face, the scar cracked over his bottom lip. Mickey remembered that day, the one when he’d went with his brothers to shake one of their clients down for the money he owed. But that was before Mickey and Ian had met, before they knew anything of each other- or, so Mickey thought.

His mind reeled at what this could possibly mean as he analyzed the well photographed picture. How could he have not noticed the redhead in the moment it was shot? Mickey barely remembered where he was when it happened, only the street and the neighborhood they were in: Bridgetown.

“Mick?” Mickey jumped as he heard his own name yelled in the silence of the apartment. “You in the kitchen?” Ian’s voice was still gruff from sleep, and Mickey almost forgot the picture before him.

“Y-yeah!” he called back, taking a final look at the picture before backing out and turning off the light. He heard Ian ask for a beer, so he dutifully went to the fridge and picked up another as he carried both back into the younger boy’s room.

Ian was sat up against his pillow, elbows resting on propped up knees as he watched Mickey enter. He’d went for the lamps on either side of the bed as Mickey handed him his beer. He mumbled a thanks and took a long sip. After copying Ian’s actions, he studied the face before him. “What’s your deal?” he asked allowed, not even bothering to hide his curiosity.

“My deal on what?”

“I went into your photography room,” Mickey deadpanned.

“You mean my darkroom?” Ian corrected, before the light went off in his head. “Shit,” he mumbled before Mickey was off and on him like a feline.

“Yeah ‘shit’. Why the fuck do you have a picture of me before we met, huh? What, are you fuckin’ stalking me?”

“No! No, no, no.” Ian was getting frantic, setting his beer down before sitting up on his knees. “God, no. It’s not like that.”

“Then what the fuck is it?” Mickey was revving up the energy to not hear any of the guy’s bullshit.

“There was a restaurant across the street called Freddie’s. They have incredible Italian food, and I went there on my lunch break.”

“You went all the way to Bridgeport for a fuckin’ lunch break?” Did Ian really think Mickey would believe this?

Ian raised his hands in surrender. “I know it sounds delusional, but it’s true! It was the day before I came into your diner and we met. That’s why I was acting so strange when I first saw you.” Mickey went over the image, how Ian had looked up to meet Mickey’s eyes before choking on the coffee he was sipped on. Mickey had thought it to be kind of funny at the time. And they way Ian stumbled over his words hadn’t made it better.

He studied those green eyes, the earnest look on his faintly freckled face. As much as he wanted to argue it, something in him believed Ian was telling the truth. “Then why’d you take a picture of me?”

Ian shrugged, sitting back and leaning against the headboard. “I guess for the same reason why I agreed to this whole ‘fuck buddy’ thing: I like your face.” Then he grinned and it went straight to Mickey’s core, his stomach fluttering in the good type of queasy way it shouldn’t have.

“I shouldn’t be forgiving you for this. It’s creepy as fuck.” He went back to his beer.

“Who says I’m sorry? I took that picture under the idea that I’d never see you again and that smile was too much to miss.” Mickey rolled his eyes as he continued on with his drink. “Besides, if you think that’s creepy, you probably shouldn’t check out my camera now.” And it was a lucky thing for both of them that Mickey had finished off his beer as Ian started speaking. He snapped his eyes to watch Ian’s face, to level his seriousness. There was nothing there and Mickey wondered at what could possibly be on the camera. It sat on the dresser right across from them.

Ian chuckled beside him, amused at the terror mixed with anger in Mickey’s eyes. If anyone crossed Mickey at the sign of anger on his face, they’d usually run in the other direction. But here Ian was, invoking it. “Chill, Mick. I don’t have any other pictures. But I’ve come close…you look so peaceful when you sleep.”

“You should probably shut the fuck up,” Mickey warned, getting up and retreating to the dresser. “You’re not makin’ your case any better.” He went to the camera, finding the power button and watching it come to life. It took some maneuvering, but he finally got to where album of snapped photos, and going through the close-ups of restaurants and other pictures Mickey was sure he’d find in a life-style magazine, Mickey sighed in relief to see Ian was telling the truth. He snuck a look over his shoulder to see Ian had been watching him with no real expression. Mickey rolled his eyes. What a smug asshat.

“Are you feelin’ kinda stupid?” Ian asked when Mickey made his way over to the bed. He smirked as blue eyes glared at him, but overall, Ian thought Mickey was adorable- and he got the vibe maybe he shouldn’t say that to his “fuckbuddy”.

Mickey messed with the buttons until the screen was back to its original state, ready to capture a moment in time.

It was all on impulse; moving to straddle Ian’s hips and putting the lens to his eye, seeing the cross and box corners to center the scene before he snapped a picture. Ian looked good like this, laying on his back with his hands tucked beneath his head as he smiled lazily, eyeing Mickey. After the first picture was taken, Mickey went to take another, and Ian hit him with a ridiculous face that caused Mickey to fumble as he smirked the moment the picture was caught. He fumbled with the settings only to get away from those intense eyes. When he snapped another, there was a blinding flash that made Ian flinch.

“Woah!” Mickey exclaimed, caught off guard. He turned the contraption in his hands, inspecting its many bumps and ridges. “How did that-“ he was cut off as his finger accidentally pressed the snap button and barely missed the flash shot to the ceiling.

“Ok, alright.” Ian pretended to be fed up as he began to sit straight. “Hand it over.”

Before Mickey was even sure of what he was doing, the hand that held Ian’s camera flew back, making it out of reach. Ian recognized the challenge in those bright, blue eyes; he was sure the same look was mirrored in his. “Mickey, give it back.” He laughed as the smaller boy leaned back as he stretched forward. “It’s not a toy!”

“No, you just use it to stalk people,” Mickey added with mocking casualty. He shrugged and leaned back a bit more.

“You don’t know how to correct the settings for this lighting,” Ian reasoned. “I’m a professional.”

Mickey scoffed, making him lose his distance, and Ian reached up to snatch it out of Mickey’s hand before rolling them over; Mickey grunted as his back fell against the mattress. Ian’s fingers worked quickly on the few knobs for a second or two before he put the lens to his eyes. “Smile.” Only Mickey glared and graced the shot with his middle finger. He didn’t stop there, watching through the lens as he trailed over Mickey’s body. The muscles in his abs were slightly defined but still noticeable under his pale skin. He let the camera roam down further, his finger hovering over the button, until Mickey sat up.

“I can’t take a few pictures, but you’re about to make a porno with it?”

Ian smirked. “At least it’d be a good quality one.” He snapped another picture before Mickey grabbed Ian’s wrist and turned them over, once again taking his place over Ian’s body, before easing the camera out of Ian’s hand and setting it on the nightstand.

Ian was surprised when Mickey didn’t flinch as he sat up, the closeness growing in intensity. “What is this?” he asked with a sigh.

Mickey rolled his eyes at hearing the question he’s heard so many times before. “I keep tellin’ you, Firecrotch. We’re fuck buddies or, as you’d call it, friends with benefits.”

Ian shook his head at the absurd assumption. “What do you mean? You don’t know me.”

“Right, like _you_ know me.” Mickey scoffed. But he could see the error in his words. Ian had that intense look and, if Mickey _didn’t_ know anything else, he did know Gallagher was about to get deep.

“I know that you like this,” Ian started, his hands sliding up Mickey’s bare thighs. Mickey tried to keep his muscles from twitching at the contact, but failed.  And sensing a smart remark, Ian continued. “I know you act one way with me and another way with the rest of the world- even if they are only subtle differences. But it’s clearest when you’re asleep and you’re allowed to be in your head. Like I said, you _look_ really peaceful. I know you’re worried about keeping up an image- don’t know what for or who for, but…” he trailed off and shrugged, pleased at his own statement as he continued to caress and massage at the pale thighs.

Something about what he said had Mickey silent.

Mickey,” Ian whispered, “what is this?” he repeated.

“I told you,” Mickey answered automatically. “We’re friends with benefits.”

Ian shook his head almost desperately as he wrapped his arms around Mickey’s hips, pulling him in closer. “No, those don’t work. I mean, they may work for some, but not for you.”

Mickey wasn’t sure when his hands came to rest on those broad, speckled shoulders. “You mean, not for you.”

Ian gave the pleased smile again that Mickey hated to love. “So you _do_ know me.” When Mickey rolled his eyes, Ian smiled. “Do you still think it was a coincidence?”

“Well, you think you fuckin’ know me so well, what do’ya think?”

Ian’s hands tore flames from his skin as they slid up Mickey’s hips, reaching around to cup at his clothed ass before bringing them upward to his back, bringing him in closer. As he took in a deep breath, it was like Ian smelled Mickey, or maybe his presence. It was satisfying. “I think you’d like to capture this moment.”

Ian was right: Mickey _did_ want to remember this. He wanted to remember a time where he didn’t have to hide or be upset at everything. He wanted to remember the way Ian’s hands sent shivers through his body. He wanted to remember where he didn’t have to stay quiet. And if one of them could keep that memory on a piece of paper, Mickey would be grateful. At least one of them could remember how freeing this was for him. He smiled at the idea of a record of today, even if it was one second of a whole night, he’d see the way Ian looked up at him and remember all of what happened; every noise, every touch, every smell, every taste, every thought. “You’re gonna have to get me from my better angle,” Mickey teased, mentally kicking himself for his awful choice of words. But Ian was laughing, too, the faint smell of beer on his breath. He was leaning in forward, closing the space between them as his heart raced. _Fuck it_ , he thought as he pressed their lips together, something soft and chaste. The last thing Mickey wanted was for him to fuck up his first kiss-

Ian pulled him in again, the lowest, nearly inaudible growl emitted from his chest. Mickey leaned into the sound, the vibrations from his body, allowing Ian to take the lead as he fell in line with the movement of their lips.

Mickey’s heart raced from exhilaration at the new experience. Ian tasted of something sweet, coated in the faintest of alcohol. It was wet as his tongue licked at Mickey’s closed lips. He opened just enough for Ian to delve in and moaned unabashedly at the contact. He could feel it getting deeper, the kiss. It was Ian that drew back, just giving them enough space to pant and catch the breath they so desperately needed. Mickey hadn’t realized his grip on Ian’s neck; it contradicted to how he could feel Ian’s scorching hands on every part of him, it was incredible.

“Oh, fuck,” Mickey mumbled. Ian nodded in response, pulling Mickey back in. Their lips remained connected as Ian turned them over, Mickey spreading his legs to accommodate Ian’s body. Ian slid in, rubbing their hardening members together as he continued his exploration with his tongue and teeth and lips. Ian would think about Mickey’s lips, if they were as sharp as his tongue or as soft as the smile he’d give when Mickey thought Ian wasn’t looking. Though he couldn’t pinpoint what it was about the Milkovich’s lips, he knew he was quickly becoming addicted. As his lip continued their work, Ian let his hands drift down, taking advantage of the preoccupied man beneath him. His fingers caressed over his chest, rolling over his nipples and downwards to his stomach where he felt Mickey twitch. Ian backed away, longing to see his body move as Ian went lower and lower.

Mickey’s hands were buried in the red strands of Ian’s hair, tugging to bring his swollen lips back to his. But Ian’s eyes roamed over him, his eyes blown from lust. Mickey wouldn’t deny the way his breath hitched as those eyes met his. He accepted the quick kiss before Ian was at his jaw, leaving a trail of small kisses until he got to his collar bone. He bit back a moan as he felt Ian bite down, sucking at his skin as his grip in his hair tightened.

Once Ian was sure he left a sizable mark, he continued kissing down; Mickey could stop the moan that escaped as Ian laved at his nipple. Then he was on his way, and Mickey’s breathing got heavier as he watched Ian slide down his body, licking and biting and kissing until he got to the bad of the boxers. He wasn’t aware he held his breath until Ian looked up with a devilish smirk and hooked his fingers in the elastic. Mickey lifted his hips to help remove the dratted fabric and clenched at the sheets, waiting for Ian to move on, feeling the hot breath against his penis.

Ian smiled, loving the way drawing it out was having an effect on Mickey. When the brunette let his head fall to the pillow, he swooped down, taking the length of Mickey in one swallow. And Mickey cried out, his legs clenching deathly tight as his hands flew back to their safe spot in the red hair. Ian groaned around Mickey’s cock, making Mickey buck in response. So Ian held fast to Mickey’s hips, concentrating on everything about his leaking member; Mickey’s breathing was wrecked, his body quivering from how slow Ian would lick and swirl his tongue. Being brought so close so fast, it was almost impossible for Mickey to try and stave off his impending orgasm. He was coiled up, waiting for that final pull that’d snap him in two- he didn’t even focus on the sounds he must have been making. “Ian,” he moaned, his voice raspy.

Ian pulled off then, clenching the base to help make this last longer. Mickey was allowing him to go slow, take his time, and Ian was going to have all the fun with that power.

Mickey stared at the swollen lips, red and glistening from spit and pre-cum, he’s sure. He pulled Ian in, wanting to taste for the first time how he tasted mixed in with everything that made Ian so irresistible. His free hand, the one that wasn’t holding on to his neck, slid its way down the muscled back until he got to the dip of his back, his fingers nudging at the fabric on his hips. “Off,” he commanded against Ian’s mouth, and he obliged. He wanted to feel all of Ian in a way he never had before, where they were one from head to toe. Ian hissed when Mickey bucked up, feeling the hot hardness of Ian. He felt the man above him tremble as he brought that hand to cover bother their erections. After inspecting the quick and messy work Mickey was making of the both of them, Ian brought a hand to Mickey’s face, his fingers moving over his lips.

Ian made a silent command, tapping two of his fingers at Mickey’s mouth. He took the fingers with readiness, and Ian rutted down hard, conflicted on whether he should imagine the hot tightness around his dick or not. He wanted this to last, but it seemed it’d be over too quickly with every move they made. He snatched his fingers back, replacing them with his mouth as he went to circle the fingers around Mickey’s hole.

Ian swallowed Mickey’s whimpers as he stuck one finger in, pumping slowly until Mickey wrapped his legs around Ian’s back, asking for another finger. He obliged and focused on stretching. When he curled his fingers expertly, Mickey pulled his mouth away to let his head fall back.

“ _Fuck,_ Ian!  Do that ag-fuck!” Mickey cried out as Ian went to slam his fingers in and adding another, all directed to the bundle inside him that made him near the edge. Ian quickly pulled out, his own pit swirling just from the wrecked expression on the older man’s face. He palmed blindly for the lube, unable to take his eyes of the panting man under him.

Once he was fully lubed up, Mickey wrapped an arm around his shoulders and brought him down to whisper in his ears. “Are you gonna go slow?”

Ian clenched his eyes shut, the sultry rasp of his lover’s voice sending him reeling alone. “Fuck,” he hissed, a hand guiding his cock to the loosened, wet hole. “I’m gonna try.” And with that, he began to push in.

It was great for both of them that Mickey was already loosened from their earlier bout of sex, because if this was their initial of the night, neither of them would have made it this far; the point where they panted as Ian bottomed out and Mickey clenched at the sheets with one hand, getting used to the familiar full feeling.

Ian felt soft lips against his jaw before he moved to lean back, balancing on his knees. He shifted their position, putting one leg on his shoulder while the other stayed on his hip, as he drew out slowly, followed by an agonizingly slow thrust inside. His head fell back to the ceiling as he repeated the motion. Even with the slow pace, he felt his insides racing; his heart pounding in his chest, his blood a hot flash at it ran through his veins, his stomach clenching as he tried to calm down his impending orgasm.

Mickey’s skin itched all over, threatening to burst as Ian continued his torturous pace. He slid a hand to the black of his thigh, looking up the same moment Ian looked down, desperation and longing in his eyes. “Ian,” his breath hitched on the hard impact of one of the slow thrust. He scratched at the burning skin under his fingers, trying to drag Ian in closer. He needed to feel the heat of Ian against him. He used the leg wrapped around the younger man’s waist to draw him in. He successfully did so as Ian let go of Mickey’s thighs, settling to his forearms. The change in angle had Ian dragging against Mickey’s prostate, resulting in Mickey clenching hard. They shared a groan as Ian picked up the pace to something normal, something Mickey still wouldn’t tolerate.

Mickey hooked his arms around Ian’s shoulders, doing everything he could to bring Ian closer. He couldn’t take the slow pace anymore, and with every thrust, Ian prodded at his special place and he _needed_ to feel Ian. “Ian.” He’d deny that his voice came out whiny. But it did the trick. He felt Ian shudder around him. “Touch me,” he said against Ian’s neck, trying to bring Ian in closer.

Ian turned his face to see the dark eyes staring up at him and his control was lost. He crashed their lips together, one hand clawing at the sheets above Mickey’s head and the other clenching at the pale thigh as he completely snapped. 

He swallowed every cry that came from his change in pace, from slow to brutally quick. Though, he couldn’t muffle the sounds emitting from Mickey; the growls, the whines, the moans and groans. They filled the room as Ian slammed forward, deep and hard as he focused on the tightening heat as they both raced for the finish line.

He felt Mickey grip around him, legs and arms wrapped around him like a steel cage as the dark haired boy came with a quiet shout. All Ian could see was white as he came deep inside, holding onto Mickey as he began to shudder at his release. Even as Mickey fell limp on the mattress, he kept his hold on the redhead, not wanting him to leave yet. Mickey cradled Ian, to say the least, taking in the sounds of their heavy breathing, the smell of Ian’s sweat matted hair, the feel of Ian limp inside him; Mickey wanted to remember it all.

As if Ian had read his mind, he turned to Mickey, “Wish we couldn’t captured that moment.”

Mickey felt a laugh bubble up in his chest, shaking Ian. “Yeah, that would’ve been some good quality porno,” he teased, still trying to catch his breath.

He released Ian then, letting him roll next to Mickey. Mickey rolled to his side to look at Ian. “I’m gonna be a sticky mess if I don’t get this shit off.”

Ian raised an eyebrow. “You wanna take a shower?”

Mickey looked around the room as if he was seeing it for the first time, the bed they lie on against one wall with a night stand on each side to hold the lamps and the various things, like their lube, Ian’s camera, and their empty bottles of beer; a dresser on the opposite wall in front of them with miscellaneous objects like a watch and random scraps of paper. There was a window that clearly looked down onto the busy life of downtown Chicago and all the lights. It was all a fairy tale that he was fascinated to continue reading.

He let out a contented sigh. “Maybe later.” He inched closer, hopefully deftly enough for Ian not to notice, and they just listened, until they fell asleep and later didn’t come till morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Goodness I always do this at 3 in the mornin'. I dunno I couldn't help myself. How'd ya like it?


End file.
